Off Day
by Dr. Mini Pie
Summary: Gozaburo leaves for a weekend without warning, and Seto and Mokuba are left to their own devices. Complete.
1. Day One

**Doctor's Note:** This slice-of-life is over ten years old in my imagination. I have the dated, mediocre middle-school drawings to prove it! I hope you enjoy the read. - Dr. Mini Pie

Warnings: Some uses of "God," not taken in vain.

* * *

It was half past noon. Half past _noon_. Seto had been asleep for over ten hours.

His first reaction was sheer panic. His heartbeat skyrocketed, and he threw off his bedsheets. _Oh God_ , he thought, _Oh God Oh God_.

But as he raced through his morning routine in his bathroom, he couldn't help but grow a little calmer. No one had come to get him. No one was coming to get him now, as far as he could tell. What the heck had happened? Did someone _die?_ There was no other explanation. Not once had Hobson let him sleep in and live it down. Not once had Gozaburo _not_ sicked the old hound on him for doing _anything_ wrong.

Seto finished dressing himself and stood facing the mirror, lost. He supposed he could venture down to the breakfast room. Would the kitchen staff even be there to prepare him anything?

A knock came at the door. _Ah_ , thought Seto, and his mind was relieved of the burden of uncertainty, even as his heart sank. _There he is._

But the knocker didn't knock and then barge right in without an invitation, as Hobson always did. Uncertainty crept back up Seto's spine.

"Come in," he said, wary.

The bedroom door eased open. It was one of the Kaiba mansion's newest hires, a young man with a funny mustache named Roland. He seemed about as startled to see Seto as Seto was to see him.

"Young Master Kaiba," said Roland, tugging at his collar. "Forgive my intrusion."

Seto stared. He nodded a little.

Roland went on, awkward and clearly at a bit of a loss. "It seems Master Kaiba has been...called away on emergency business...which has necessitated the accompaniment of his primary home staff."

Seto blinked. _That meant Hobson was...?_

"He left very suddenly this morning," said Roland, "and will be gone for four days...until this coming Tuesday. Morning. Tuesday morning. I believe."

Gozaburo had left on business trips before without taking Seto. When he did, he usually—

"Master Kaiba left no instructions concerning the young master and his brother." Roland quirked his eyebrows up in anxious resignation. "And none of the remaining staff has been able to reach him, or any of his party."

Seto was unable to process what he was hearing. _So...that means..._

Roland obliged: "You and young Master Mokuba are therefore free to...do whatever you want."

If Seto had been gaping before, he now stood dumbstruck.

Roland fidgeted, too new for this. "If you need anything, or would like to travel anywhere, please...alert me, and I'll notify the staff," he said. "I'll be stationed near the main entrance." Roland bowed his head a little. "Thank you, young Master Kaiba." He stepped out of the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Seto stood there, arms hanging at his sides, pristine dress shirt tucked neatly into his waist.

He was faced with a major rarity: a problem he couldn't solve.

 _Free to do...free to do whatever...whatever I want._

Nine months of a schedule so strict, so rigorous, not even a minute of his time skirted by without an assignment. Three _years_ of getting by on so little, that for not even a moment was he spared of the worries of tomorrow.

What did he even... _want?_

Seto knew, at least, whom to ask.

Mokuba's little face positively glowed at the sight of his brother. "Seto!" he shouted, running forward and wrapping his brother in a bear-cub hug. "Are we gonna hang out today?"

Seto flinched, remembering with a start how long it had been since he'd been hugged. But he wasted no time in returning it.

"Yeah," he said, trying to smile. "Yeah, we're gonna hang out."

Mokuba grinned, overjoyed and bursting with energy. "What are we gonna do?" he asked. "Can we go to the park? Or can we go to the pool?" Mokuba nodded vigorously. "Yeah, the pool! Let's go to the pool!"

Seto reeled— _the pool? Where was—and didn't the mansion have a_ —Mokuba danced in a circle and then dove at him for another hug.

This was a little too much for Seto to take. He sloughed his brother off as gently as he could, but Mokuba was too excited to mind.

"Which pool do you want to go to?" asked Seto.

"Fifth Street!" Mokuba announced, as though Fifth Street Pool was the only obvious pool choice one could make. He tumbled over to his dresser and struggled to open the heavy bottom drawer. Then he realized he didn't know what he was doing. "Where are my swim trunks?" he asked Seto.

"You don't have swim trunks," said Seto. Mokuba's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I do," he said.

"No, you don't." This was one thing Seto was sure of. And even if they _were_ still around, Mokuba had grown far too big for the old pair he'd worn at the orphanage.

This was unsatisfactory to Mokuba on multiple levels. "But I wanna go swimming!" he whined. "I gotta have swim trunks to go swimming!"

As he pouted, Seto thought hard about how to remedy this. Here was this wild opportunity to hang out, and they couldn't even do the one thing Mokuba wanted to do—how could they find his old trunks? What would they do if they couldn't find them? How could they buy a new pair—wait.

 _"...Free to do whatever you want."_

They had been adopted by a tycoon. They were rich—they were _filthy_ rich. And Roland had the wallet, and the keys to the limo.

"Let's buy you some," said Seto, with a real smile.

* * *

After a two-hour trip to the department store and a careful selection of the perfect pairs of swim trunks for the both of them, Roland dropped the Kaiba brothers off at Fifth Street Pool. He followed the boys up the sidewalk and to the door, until Seto stopped and turned around to face him.

"Thank you for the ride," said Seto politely. "You don't have to stay."

"I'll watch you from the bleachers," said Roland. Seto shook his head.

"No, it's okay. You have other stuff to do."

Roland frowned. "Today you are my charges. I don't feel comfortable leaving—"

But Seto was giving him a look that was suddenly fierce. "We can take care of ourselves," growled the eleven-year-old. "You can go."

Mokuba, who had been dragging his massive new beach bag in one hand and grasping Seto's hand in the other, looked between their faces, rapt. Seto glared, and Roland's veins coursed with dread over his dilemma: Leave minors alone and unattended in a public place? Or disobey an order from the young Master Kaiba? Which was the lesser of the two evils? ...Which was less likely to get him _fired?_

"...I'll be at the mansion, young Master Kaiba," said Roland, and he retreated to the limo.

Seto, feeling a little guilty but quite justified, paid for both their passes at the counter and led an ecstatic Mokuba into the pool area. They had taken care of themselves for a long time before this. They didn't need a babysitter. They didn't need anyone's help.

But as soon as they walked in, Seto regretted his decision.

There were kids _everywhere_ , their shouts and splashes echoing off the tiled walls and floor. Adults stood dipping toddlers' feet into the shallow end, lay lounging on every poolside chair, chatted in groups by the restroom. The lifeguard blew her whistle again and again over the cacophony.

Seto's anxiety hit him like a ton of bricks. Nine months of hell under his stepfather had also been nine months cloistered away from the outside world—whatever social skills he'd had before had withered and died.

A group of rowdy boys ran by, knocking Seto backward and causing him to stumble on the wet tile. He barely caught himself in time. His breath came in short gasps, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and disappear, and why, O why had he sent Roland home, and why had Mokuba wanted to come to this horrifyingly public pool—

 _Oh God_ —where was Mokuba?

"Mokuba!" Seto choked out. He scanned the throngs of swimmers and sunbathers. No sign of a little ebony head. Seto had no choice. He took a deep breath and, forcing himself not to run, began elbowing his way through the crowd.

"Mokuba!" he called out again and again, ignoring people's weird looks as he shoved past them. " _Mokuba!_ "

No sign of him at the shallow end. Had he— _Oh God_ , had he fallen into the deep end? But the lifeguard hadn't moved—but there were so many people, she could have missed it—

Seto full-out ran now. He heard the lifeguard's shrill whistle as he dashed right up to the edge of the deep end and dove in, fully clothed.

Masses of the bottom halves of bodies, crammed together. Seto felt his eyes sting as he peered about underwater, looking behind every pair of legs, and even at the bottom of the pool, _Oh God_ , but nothing, no one was at the bottom, and he couldn't breathe any more.

Seto threw his head out of the water and paddled to the wall. He clambered out of the pool, eyes darting everywhere and settling on the restrooms. His last hope.

"No running!" shouted the lifeguard. Seto ran.

He skidded to a halt at the entrance to the men's bathroom. There were voices coming from within a stall—another boy's voice, and an even younger, very familiar little voice.

"I dunno how to tie this," said Mokuba.

"Here, lemme help you," said the other boy.

"I dunno how, but my brother does," Mokuba went on idly, and right then Seto burst into the stall.

"Mokuba!" There were no words to articulate his relief.

"Seto!" Mokuba cried with a happy smile. He took in his brother's sopping wet clothes. "You look silly!"

Mokuba stood barefoot and in his new swim trunks with his beach bag at his feet. Kneeling beside him was a blonde boy about Seto's age, who was in the process of helping Mokuba tie off the legs of his trunks and was squinting up at Seto with blatant mistrust.

"This your brother?" the boy asked Mokuba. Mokuba nodded.

"Yep, that's him."

"What's it to you?" snapped Seto. "Get your hands off my brother."

Seto shoved the boy out of the way and knelt to tie the knots himself. The boy puffed up, indignant. He seemed used to shoves.

"Some brother you are, leavin' him in here by himself," the boy challenged. "Somebody could've kidnapped him!"

"Somebody like you!" Seto, already finished with the knots, stood up and faced the stubborn boy. They were the same height, but Seto was much thinner – both naturally and from nine months of hell. Still, he could wipe the floor with this kid if he had to.

They sized each other up, glaring daggers, until Mokuba stamped his foot and said, "Hey!"

They both looked down at him, and he stared right back, unafraid. "Hey, Seto. He was helping me," he said firmly. "He thought I was lost."

The boy seemed proud and happy at the thought, but Seto bristled. "No," he said, "you don't know anything about this guy! He could've been trying to kidnap you."

"I'm a kid!" said the boy, throwing up his hands. "Kids don't kidnap other kids! Sheesh, don't get out much, do you?"

Seto's adrenaline was still wearing off, and he couldn't come up with a clever reply, so he settled for his darkest glower yet. Noises from the crowded pool outside seeped into the bathroom, and they made his stomach churn. He suddenly felt ridiculous in his soaking wet clothes.

"Come on, Mokuba," he said. "We're gonna go home." He picked the beach bag up off the grimy floor and reached for his brother's hand.

Mokuba refused to take hold of it. "No! I wanna go swimming."

Seto squeezed his hand into a fist. "Come on. We have to leave," he insisted.

"Why?" demanded Mokuba, who would not budge.

"We just do. Come on!"

" _Why?_ "

"There's—there's too many people here!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes-huh! Why do you wanna fight me?" Seto slammed his fist into his thigh, overwhelmed. Mokuba started tearing up.

"But I wanna _swim!_ "

"We're going _home!_ "

"Do you want me to swim with 'im?"

Seto jumped. Even in the confines of the bathroom stall, he had forgotten the other boy's presence. The boy was watching them with a look that was not confusion or pity—rather one of matter-of-fact determination.

"Huh?" said Seto.

"I'll swim with 'im, and you can watch us from the bleachers," said the boy. "They ain't as crowded."

Mokuba sniffed and looked up at Seto for approval, who struggled to digest the offer. The boy waited.

"C'mon," said the boy, impatient. "How am I gonna kidnap him if you're watchin' us?"

Seto gave him a long, uncertain look. Then he handed Mokuba the bag, who lit up, and he pushed open the door of the stall.

"Alright," he mumbled.

* * *

"Do you like Fifth Street Pool?" asked Mokuba as he pushed his dripping bangs out of his face.

"Oh, yeah," said the boy, doing the same.

"Do you come to it a lot?"

"Yeah, every day."

"Where's your dad and your mom?"

"Where's yours?"

"On a business trip."

"So's mine."

"Okay. What's your name?"

"Joey. What's yours?"

"Mokuba."

"That's a cool name."

"Yeah."

Seto could see their lips moving from the bleachers, though he couldn't hear them over the wall of reverberating sound. He had shed his soggy t-shirt and had wrapped a towel over his shoulders. The beach bag lay at his feet, a crisp and dry new towel waiting for Mokuba within.

He saw Mokuba splash the boy in the face, and then saw him throw his head back and laugh; and it prompted Seto to give his own little smile.

Three more days of freedom...to do whatever they wanted.

Maybe they'd come back tomorrow.


	2. Day Two

**Doctor's Note:** Thank you for your feedback! This was originally just a one-shot, but now I'll endeavor to tell the story of all four days. - Dr. Mini Pie

* * *

In spite of the genuine fun Seto had had that day with Mokuba, by that night he was filled with dread. He'd put Mokuba to bed at nine and had spent the next seven hours convincing himself that these four days of freedom were nothing but an elaborate scheme, set up by Gozaburo to trap Seto and punish him for his lazy insurrection. Maybe even set up by Hobson, the _mastermind_ of punishment.

Now it was three in the morning, and Seto was no closer to sleep than he'd been at nine. He kept having visions of Hobson barging into his bedroom and switching on the lights, hearing Gozaburo's barks of laughter from outside the door. He was absolutely _sure_ the jig would be up at any moment.

Seto lay there in his pajamas, gazing despondently at the roof of his four-poster, until the sun came up.

When his door _did_ burst open at seven-thirty, Seto stifled a yelp and jerked upright. With saucer-sized eyes he stared at the little figure who bee-bopped into the room, singing; his mind tried to assure his nerves that this clearly wasn't Hobson.

Mokuba climbed into bed next to his trembling sibling. " _You ain't never had, never had, you ain't never had a friend like me,_ " he sang under his breath as he snuggled in and pulled the comforter up to his chin. "Can we go to the pool today?" he asked, peering up at Seto.

Seto wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "Um..." What if Gozaburo showed up while they were gone? "Um...I think we have to stay here today," Seto said.

Instead of pouting, Mokuba took a shrewd route. "Well, I have swim trunks now, and so do you," he said. He sat up and opened his hands in a gesture of closure. "So, I think we can go today."

Seto shook his head. "That's not..." He trailed off. How could he explain this?

"Roland said he can take us in the limo," said Mokuba.

Seto blinked. "You talked to Roland?"

"Yeah. He's downstairs." Just then Mokuba's stomach gave a huge growl. "I'm _hungry!_ " he exclaimed. "Let's go eat break-n-fast." He leaped out of the bed as abruptly as he'd arrived and scampered out the door. "Come _on!_ "

Seto heard him singing on his way down the hall: " _Ain't never, ever, had a, frieeend..."_

"...It's 'breakfast,' " Seto said. As he got to his feet he felt his heart smile, even if it didn't reach his face.

When Seto came down, Roland _was_ there, sitting beside Mokuba at the breakfast table and chatting with him about something.

"I _do_ like Aladdin _,_ " he was saying, not sure of how serious he ought to sound.

"Me, too," said Mokuba. "Do you like Jafar?"

"Er...well, no. He's not a very _nice_ man..."

"I don't, either. Do you like the Sultan?"

"Um—"

"Seto!" Mokuba beamed at his brother, who took the seat opposite the pair. Roland stood and bowed.

"Good morning, young Master Kaiba," he said before sitting down again.

"Morning," Seto said, biting his lip. His question burned in his mind, and he knew Roland was the only one who could maybe give an answer—but he was afraid to ask.

Roland, however, seemed to pick up on his distress. He cleared his throat. "If you were wondering, sir," he said, "we received a brief fax from Master Kaiba this morning."

Seto's face went ashen, and Roland's own face softened at the sight. He went on in a gentler tone of voice.

"He confirmed that he will indeed be away until Tuesday."

 _...Oh. But..._ Seto gulped. "And did he, um—"

Roland shrugged with a half-smile. "He left no instructions for you."

Seto felt stupid for worrying before, but he was so utterly relieved now that he didn't care. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding for the past twelve hours.

"What about for me?" Mokuba tugged on Roland's sleeve. Roland shrugged again.

"Not for you, either, young master," he said.

Mokuba looked at Seto, eyebrows raised. "So we can go to the _pool_ today," he said slowly, as though he had just explained the meaning of that statement to a toddler.

Seto glanced at Roland, who inclined his head obligingly.

"...Yep."

They had to wait until the pool opened, of course—and Mokuba got caught up in watching _Aladdin_ for the sixty-third time—so by the time they arrived it was the heat of the day, and Fifth Street Pool was somehow even _more_ crowded than it had been yesterday.

Seto again asked Roland to leave, although his renewed offer to stay was tempting. But now that Seto knew his way around (and knew to keep a hawk's eye on Mokuba, who was already drifting toward the entrance while Seto bought the passes), he was determined to do better on his own.

"Wait, Mokuba!" he shouted. Mokuba reluctantly obeyed. He hovered by the doorway until Seto finished; then they joined hands and squeezed through the bustling poolside to the restrooms.

"Where's Joey?" asked Mokuba, craning his neck as they walked.

"Who?"

"My friend," said Mokuba. Seto made the connection and grimaced a little.

"Oh, _him_. How'm I supposed to know?"

"Will you help me find him?" Mokuba asked. His brow creased with worry. "We're gonna swim again today."

"Sure," Seto grumbled with zero conviction. They stopped in front of the same stall as yesterday, and Seto led Mokuba inside. "In you go, kid."

They changed together into their trunks, though Seto left his shirt on. He knelt to the floor to tie off Mokuba's pant legs, ruminating. Half of Seto was glad he wouldn't have to swim, but the other half was jealous of his brother's new friend. This kid— _Joey_ —should have to _earn_ Mokuba's trust. One day of swimming didn't cut it, not by a long shot.

But it seemed Mokuba was not nearly so particular.

"Joey!" he cried, leaping into the air with an ecstatic wave. Joey had just emerged from the water and stood ringing out his trunks at the edge of the pool. He looked up when he heard his name and grinned.

"Hey, Mokuba!"

Seto watched with mild horror as his little brother padded on his bare feet over to Joey and hugged him firmly around the waist.

"Good to see ya, kid!" said Joey, ruffling Mokuba's hair.

"Are we gonna swim again today?" Mokuba asked, bubbling over with excitement.

"We're at the pool, ain't we?"

Mokuba laughed. "Yeah!"

Mokuba was keen on leading Joey back into the water, but Joey paused and locked eyes with Seto, who stood with his arms crossed a few feet away.

"Hey," said Joey.

Seto glared. He didn't deign to reply. Joey's eyes narrowed.

"Are you gonna swim, or are you gonna watch again?"

Several emotions passed through Seto's heart at once: indignation, bitter envy, offense, disgust. But anxiety trotted up and threw a blanket over all of them.

He said, "...I'll watch."

Joey shrugged. "Your loss." He turned away to let Mokuba drag him by the hand into the shallow end.

Seto claimed a spot high up on the bleachers. He'd refused to let on how intensely angry it made him, just _giving_ Mokuba _away_ to this punk—but now that he was alone, he could seethe all he wanted. He considered climbing down there, forcing Joey into a stranglehold, and holding his head under the water until bubbles came up. Then he'd think twice before stealing Seto's brother. He'd leave them both alone, _forever_.

To distract himself, he dug into his beach bag and produced a book. He propped open against his knees and attempted to read. It was just a book to read for fun, not a textbook. But Gozaburo had screwed him up so badly, he couldn't get through five pages without being overwhelmed by guilt. How could he read this junk when he had so much studying to do?

He tossed the book back into the bag and squinted down at the water until he spotted his brother. Joey was still with him. Mokuba was still smiling and laughing.

Seto sighed. He traced the patterns on his new trunks, which still had never been wet, and sulked.

* * *

After dinner at the mansion with Roland, Seto washed the chlorine out of Mokuba's hair. Then the boys hunkered down in front of Mokuba's television, and Seto pressed 'Play' on the VCR remote. The beginning strains of "Arabian Nights" filled the warm and comfortable silence.

About twenty minutes in—just as Aladdin was reaching for the lamp—a massive BOOM crashed against the balcony window. The lights flickered and flared up, and then everything went black.

Mokuba didn't scream; he had never been afraid of the dark. He was more upset that his movie had ended.

"What happened to Aladdin?" he demanded.

"The power went out," whispered Seto.

Mokuba mimicked his brother and fell silent. Outside, the rain roared. Thunderclaps rent the air, and peels of lightning threw shadows around the room in constant succession. The brothers sat and listened in the dark for a minute or two, taking in the symphonic light show.

Mokuba eventually spoke. "You can swim with me 'n' Joey tomorrow," he said. "It's really fun."

"The pool's closed tomorrow," Seto said.

"Then the next day," said Mokuba, undeterred. He sounded sleepy. Seto felt Mokuba's head press against him. He wrapped his arm around his little brother's tiny shoulders.

"...maybe," he said.

Mokuba cuddled in closer. "Okay," he mumbled. Seto laid his head softly on top of Mokuba's.

As soon as Roland got the backup generator working, he popped in to Mokuba's room to check on the boys. They'd fallen asleep like that.


	3. Day Three

**Doctor's Note:** Thank you again for your support! I'm gaining a lot of appreciation for Roland as I write this story. In my mind, even under Gozaburo's reign of tyranny, he stands by as a silent ally to Seto and Mokuba. These rare few days of time with the boys are when he first gets to know them, and the connections they forge here are quite significant. Enjoy Day Three! - Dr. Mini Pie

P.S. - Disney owns _Aladdin_. And Disney probably owns me. But what I don't know can't hurt me, I suppose.

* * *

The next morning, the sun rose behind a canvas of heathery gray sky. By now the thunder and lightning had worn out, and the rain was only a steady shower.

Seto lay in bed half-awake and, for the first time in a very long time, content. He'd slept much better that night after Roland had ushered the brothers up to their rooms—well, to Seto's room. Sleepy Mokuba proved to be even more stubborn than his wakeful counterpart and had clung to Seto with a vice-grip. Roland, with his signature shrug and look of anxious resignation, had left the brothers together.

Now Mokuba slept curled up at Seto's side, mouth wide open and hair sticking out at odd ends. Seto let himself match Mokuba's rhythmic breathing. He wondered what his brother might be dreaming about.

Beneath the peace, Seto felt his constant darkness rolling in and out like the tide. It was a dread without a name—the dry eyes of a slave who had been given one too many tastes of freedom to be fooled anymore by the hope it gave him. But it was so early, and this morning was so gentle, so sacred. Seto would not let his fear spoil Mokuba's dreams.

Into the contemplative quiet broke a familiar knock.

"Young Master Kaiba?" said Roland from outside the bedroom door. "Are you awake?"

Seto cringed at the noise and looked down at his brother, but Mokuba was not at all disturbed. He slept on as Seto slid out of his bed and tip-toed over to the door. Seto eased it open.

"Mokuba's still asleep," he whispered up to his temporary guardian.

"Oh! Forgive me," said Roland, hastily lowering his voice. He hunched over and beckoned for Seto to join him in the hallway. "If you don't mind," he hissed. Seto shook his head and stepped out, letting the door shut behind him with a faint 'click.'

"What is it?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his own eyes.

Roland tugged at his collar—another quirk Seto was starting to consider a trademark. He began in a whisper, "As you know, sir, today is Sunday."

It was still weird to be called 'sir,' but Seto rolled with it. "Yeah," he said, "what about it?"

Roland continued, "Well...just a moment ago I finished a phone call with...my mother." He seemed nervous and embarrassed. He adjusted the other half of his collar, and then switched back to the first half.

"She's aware of my role as your babysi—er, _guardian_ —" Seto lowered his eyebrows doubtfully. "—and she...well." Roland gulped and sprinted through his finish: " _She wants us all to accompany her to church this morning._ "

He waited for Seto's reaction.

A long time ago, now just a glimmer in the brightest corner of Seto's memory, Sunday morning had meant going to church. When his mother had traded her life for Mokuba's, their father had stopped going; he'd never liked it much in the first place. But before that, a very young Seto had glimpsed the formal expressions of his mother's deep faith almost every week.

He surprised both himself and Roland with his simple reply: "Sure."

Roland waited to see if this was a joke, but Seto's calm expression didn't budge. So Roland gave an incredulous nod and said, "O—okay, then. I'll call my mother back." He glanced at his watch. "Please be ready by nine o'clock, sir. We'll pick her up. In the limo." The thought made Roland's eyes light up, and he nearly winked at Seto before he bowed to dismiss himself and hurried down the hall.

Seto crept back into his own room and read the clock on his desk: 8:02 a.m. He had an hour to try and wake up Mokuba.

Naturally, getting ready for church did not come easy for two young boys and a barely-adult male. Sure, Roland dressed to the nines for his work at the Kaiba Mansion. But that uniform was both required _and_ provided. He had no _idea_ how to properly outfit himself for any formal occasion outside of work.

Seto and Mokuba found themselves in a similar predicament. What Mokuba considered his best clothes were not at all suitable for a church service: his new swim trunks and his favorite graphic tee, plus a bracelet he had won from a quarter machine at the grocery store. He screamed and hollered when Seto tried to pull a dress shirt over his head; Seto finally got him to compromise by wearing sweatpants instead of trunks and an orange blazer over his neon-green t-shirt.

All of a sudden it was ten past nine, and Seto wasn't dressed. He launched himself into his wardrobe and emerged in Lord knew what, just as Roland appeared at their door in khakis, sneakers, and a moisture-wicking golfer's polo to frantically usher them to the limo.

The drive to Roland's mother's house was short—perhaps due in part to Roland's _I'm-speeding-but-I-have-kids-in-the-back-so-I'm-not-really-speeding_ style of driving. Seto and Mokuba peered out their rain-streaked windows at the cream-colored little structure and its well-kept garden.

"Stay here," said Roland over his shoulder as he wrestled to open his black Kaiba Corp. umbrella. "I'll be right back." They watched him maneuver around the limo and up the front walk to the red-painted door, where a small woman in a long dress already stood. Roland held out his arm for her, and she laid a hand on it. She clutched a pocketbook close to her chest as Roland led her under his umbrella through the rain.

"Who's that?" asked Mokuba.

"Roland's mom," said Seto.

"Really?" Mokuba leaned around Seto for a better view. "Does he like her?"

"I'm sure he likes her."

" _I_ like her."

"Shh, here she is. Scoot over."

Roland opened the curbside door and stood holding the umbrella overhead while his mother struggled into the car. Mokuba slid to the opposite wall and Seto positioned himself in the middle, not sure if he should help the woman or not.

"Of course it rains on the day I wear this dress," she said, piling the skirt into the vehicle while maintaining a mighty grip on her pocketbook. "It always does. And the mud never washes all the way out of the hem, but that's just the way of things, and I'll grin and bear it like I always do. Rolly," she called to Roland, "be a doll and get the end of my skirt there for me—thank you, dear."

Roland made sure she was all the way in and shut the door. It was suddenly quiet and close. Seto and Mokuba watched her fuss with her dress, perm, and various other accoutrements. Roland climbed back into the driver's seat, himself soaking wet, and pulled back onto the road.

"Drive slower, Rolly, you see it's raining out," said Roland's mother. She produced a compact and a pink stick from her purse and carefully re-applied the stuff to her lips.

"Yes, Mom," said Roland, sheepish.

"And what is this car, this fancy limousine?" His mother squinted through her rain-clouded lenses all around the compartment. "Is this one of those _Kaiba_ limousines? You drive these at work?"

"Sometimes—"

"I can't stand that man Kaiba, when I see him on T.V." Roland's mother carried right on as though she hadn't asked a question. "He's got a look like you can't trust him," she said, pursing her newly pink lips. "All that business with _weapons_ and _war_ —just unwholesome, you know, and if it weren't for the pay, Rolly, I'd say you ought to quit while you're ahead..."

At last she noticed the boys who sat staring beside her, and she grew quiet for a moment to look them up and down.

"And you're his boys," she said. "With the funny names."

"Mom!" cried Roland from up front.

"I remember because they rhyme with islands—what is it, Aruba and—another one. Some other island. Which one was it?" She waved her hand. Seto and Mokuba blinked, uncomprehending.

She continued her appraisal. "My God, you're so thin the wind would blow you over," she said to Seto, and as the words left her another emotion entered her face. "Did you boys eat breakfast this morning? Rolly, did you fix them breakfast?"

"We, uh—didn't have time—" Roland admitted, already wincing. And the blow did come.

 _Whap!_ Seto and Mokuba flinched. Roland's mother withdrew her pocketbook, glaring something fierce.

"That man Kaiba pays you to be the _guardian_ of these two boys—"

"That's—that's not my normal job—"

 _Whap!_ "And you don't so much as fix the poor boys _breakfast?!_ "

"We were running late, we had to pick you up, Mom—"

 _Whap!_ "Don't you blame this on _me!_ I raised you better than that, Roland Michael—"

"He made us breakfast yesterday," Mokuba cut in out of the blue. Roland's mother swiveled to look at him, and he nodded. "I promise," added Mokuba.

She glanced at Seto, who was already nodding. "Waffles," he said quickly.

Though _far_ from satisfied, Roland's mother seemed somewhat appeased. She brandished the pocketbook a final time before stuffing it under her arm.

"Right after church today, you're all coming to my house, and you're eating a real meal," she spoke as though issuing a royal decree.

"No, Mom—" Roland began, but caught sight of his mother's face in the rearview mirror and thought better of it.

"Right after church," she repeated. "I have a roast in the crockpot. You like roast?" She looked at the boys.

"Yeah," they said together.

She gave a curt nod. "Good. Driver _slower_ , Roland, or you'll send us all to heaven before we even get to church."

"Y-yes, Mom."

"What's a roast?" whispered Mokuba.

"You'll like it," Seto whispered back.

Apart from Mrs. Roland's-Mom's running commentary, they spent the remainder of the drive in subservient silence. Roland dropped them off at the front of the Clover Road Church of Christ—the limousine earning no small number of stares from their fellow church-goers—and drove off to find a parking space along the road.

Roland's mother gave her own appearance another scrutinizing pass while they waited for Roland under the awning. Unfortunately she turned her exacting eye on the boys next.

"Lord have _mercy,_ " she breathed in horror, "what in _God's_ name are you boys _wearing?_ "

Seto blushed and looked down at himself—a wrinkly dress shirt and pants, a crooked tie...and the sandals he had worn to the pool. With the socks he had slept in. _Oh God—what a moron._

"I bought this," said Mokuba, thrusting an arm out to show the woman his bracelet. She was too affronted to compose a direct reply. Right then Roland jogged up the front steps to join them, and he immediately became their saving grace when his mother laid eyes on _his_ wardrobe.

"Roland, you look like you stole the wrinkly old rags off a beggar's back."

Roland hung his head. "Sorry, Mom."

Her look of utter disappointment didn't waver. "Lead the boys to Bible class," she said. "I'm sure it's already started."

"Yes, Mom."

Mokuba and Seto followed Roland into the foyer and down a set of stairs to the basement, where a row of classrooms stretched out and around the corner.

"Master Mokuba's class is there, 'K' through two," said Roland, pointing to a door decorated with confetti and paper Bibles.

"We have to split up?" asked Seto, as usual far more anxious about the prospect than Mokuba seemed to be. Mokuba was already striding toward the classroom.

"Well—unless you want to stay with Master Mokuba, sir," said Roland. "But I think he'll be fine." They both watched Mokuba turn around and wave. He wore a broad smile.

"Bye, Seto! Bye, Roland!" he called, and disappeared into the classroom.

Seto frowned as he battled down his nerves. "Where's my classroom, then?" he demanded a bit harshly.

Roland gestured around the corner. "The middle school group meets toward the end of the hall, Young Master Kaiba." He added, "...Do you want me to escort you there?"

"No," mumbled Seto.

Roland looked down at his adolescent master, who stood clenching his fists and biting his lip, expending all his effort to maintain calm control—and Roland's heart gave a small lurch. He dared to rest a hand on Seto's slender shoulder and give a reassuring squeeze.

"Young Master Mokuba will be alright, sir," he said gently. "It's my job to make sure of that."

Seto didn't look up, but he didn't jerk away.

"Besides," said Roland, "we'll _all_ have hell to pay if we don't all join my mom for roast after this."

At that Seto couldn't help but smirk a little. Roland let go of Seto's shoulder; and when Seto turned to glance up at him, Roland winked.

"Call if you need me, sir," he said. "I won't leave you."

Seto looked away and started down the hall to hide his blush of gratitude. "Yeah, alright," he said, and Roland watched him go.

Class wasn't so bad. It was forty-five minutes of Bible trivia, and since Seto was a guest, he was allowed to sit out. He endured quite a few proud, snobbish looks from the religious know-it-alls in the class, but he fired right back with his own glares of scathing disdain. When the bell rang, Seto leapt to his feet and made a beeline for the door, but the rest of the class snickered at him—it was apparently only the 'first bell,' the five-minute warning, and Seto was forced to skulk back to his seat and wait out the dreadful remainder.

The second bell resounded, and Seto marched out the door and down the hall before anyone else even stood up. He strode past rows of drab doors to his right and left, and he swept to a halt in front of Mokuba's classroom. The door stood ajar.

"Good job, today, everybody," Seto heard the teacher inside say in a sing-song manner, shouting overtop the clamor of the children. "Especially you, Mokuba. Thank you for sharing all your wonderful stories."

"You're welcome," chirped Mokuba. "Can I keep this?" Seto's heart surged with relief at the sound of his voice.

"Of course you can! Give it to your Mommy and Daddy, and tell them to please come back next week."

"Can I give it to my brother?"

"That's fine, dear."

The door flew wide open, and a stampede of five-year-olds emerged, all clutching scraggly, makeshift crafts between their grubby fingers. They shoved past Seto and into the arms of their parents—who'd flocked around Seto in the interim—until the last and littlest black-haired boy came tumbling out.

"Look what I made, Seto!" said Mokuba, thrusting his craft into Seto's hands. It was a pasted wad of construction paper and Popsicle sticks that dripped with glitter. Something was drawn in crayon, but it was hard to tell what. Seto examined it thoroughly to show Mokuba he was pleased.

"It's really nice," he said. "Great job, kiddo."

"It's Daniel and a lion's den," said Mokuba proudly. "It's for you."

"Really? Thanks!" Seto ruffled his brother's hair.

"Welcome!" Mokuba beamed.

The hallway stood nearly vacant now, and the boys heard a drone of voices overhead. Just as Seto started to wonder what to do next, Roland appeared at the foot of the stairwell. He motioned for them to follow him back up, and they obeyed.

"How was class, sir?" Roland asked Seto as they hustled up the stairs.

"Okay," said Seto.

Roland nodded. "And for you, Young Master?" he asked Mokuba.

"Great!" said Mokuba. "Really fun!"

"I'm glad," said Roland in full sincerity. "Let's find my mom, and we'll sit with her during worship."

At the top of the stairs and through a set of heavy double-doors waited the expansive auditorium. The boys ogled at the rows of pews and the tall ceiling, and most of all, the podium up front and its splendid backdrop.

And it was _crowded._ Men and women in suits and dresses chatted and ambled down the aisle to claim their spots. Children crawled under the pews, scorning their mothers' rebukes; teens flirted near the back; babies wailed. Seto began to feel a bit overwhelmed; but with one hand bearing Mokuba's craft and the other grasping Mokuba's hand, he stayed grounded. He wove in and out of the throng of God's faithful, hot on Roland's heels, and he kept an eye out for Roland's mother.

Seto's eyes passed over every face—and it wasn't until several seconds after passing over one face in particular that they sparked in recognition and did a double-take.

 _What?_

 _The?_

 _Crap?!_

No way. _No_ _way_. There was _no way_.

Seto did a triple-take. But there was no way to deny it. It was him. _Joey_. Standing there beside an old woman, dressed in a frumpy shirt and tie and looking bored and stupid. He didn't see Seto.

"Sir, this way," Seto heard Roland call from his left, and Seto forced himself to tear his gaze away from the horrid spectacle. He and Mokuba shuffled into the pew and sat down, and everyone around them—including _him_ —began to follow suit.

In spite of the serene memories the church service might have drawn up for Seto, Joey was all Seto could think about for the rest of the morning. He barely pretended to sing; he tuned out the sermon completely. He kept glancing over at Joey's pew, burning the back of that scruffy blonde head into his vision. The only thing he thanked God for during prayer was the tenuous fact that Mokuba hadn't noticed Joey at all yet—and that Joey hadn't noticed them.

Mokuba, for one, was enjoying himself immensely. Roland helped him follow along in both the Bible and the songbook, and he sang along to songs he didn't know with as much gusto as he could manage. When they prayed, he bowed his head in uttered a reverent, 'Amen,' every time.

"I learned that in class," he whispered to Seto. Seto hardly heard him.

How could Joey be _here_ , of all places? Had Mokuba seen him yet? Clearly not, or Mokuba would've run over and _hugged_ him and _talked_ to him and—and been his _friend_.

He was like some kind of stalker-demon, creeping into every corner of Seto's life. Soon Seto'd wake up to find Joey lurking in a corner of his house, dragging a happy Mokuba off to the pool, stealing Mokuba away forever, laughing and having fun with Mokuba in a way Seto hadn't been able to do in a long time, and would probably never be able to do again...

"...And in Jesus' name we pray, Amen." Church was over. Mokuba returned his songbook to its slot in the back of the pew with great care. Roland helped his mother to her feet. Seto stared at Joey. When Joey started to turn toward Seto, Seto ducked so fast that he cracked his head on the corner of the pew, hard.

"Ouch!" he yelped before he could help it.

"Seto!" Mokuba cried.

"What's gotten into you?" said Roland's mother.

"Are you alright, sir?!" asked Roland.

"I'm fine," Seto lied, blinking back stars to get a better look at Joey, who still hadn't noticed them. He rubbed his head to dull the pain. But when he pulled his hand away, he found his fingers streaked with blood. He tried in vain to hide it in time.

"Oh, Lord!" Roland's mother exclaimed. "He's busted his head. He's bleeding, Roland. He's bleeding, take him to the restroom." She pushed Roland and Seto out of the pew and ushered them down the side aisle. A frightened Mokuba ran along behind.

By now the scene was attracting unwanted attention, and Seto did his best to keep hidden as Roland led him to the restroom. His head _did_ hurt, but he knew it wasn't serious—cuts on the head always bled a lot—but if _Joey_ saw him, saw him _bleeding_ , and getting patched up by a _grown-up_ —Seto'd never forgive himself.

The whole church seemed to have caught wind of the mishap, and passed along the shred of gossip as their small group hurried past. Could Seto get away with it?

They made it to the restroom, where Roland had Seto hold a wad of paper towels to his forehead while he left to find a first-aid kit. Mokuba waited there with Seto, a nervous wreck, pacing to and fro.

"Are you okay, Seto? Are you bleeding a lot? Are you gonna be okay?" Mokuba bombarded him with anxious questions. Seto nodded impatiently, and his head throbbed.

"I'll be fine," he said, watching the door and praying that Joey wouldn't come down to the restroom.

"Are you sure?" Poor Mokuba fretted further when he didn't get Seto's full attention. "Really? Are you gonna be okay?"

" _Really_. I'll be okay," Seto snapped. His eyes never left the door. So he was startled when Mokuba spoke next through a gurgle of tears.

"Nuh-uh! You _won't_ be okay!"

"Huh?" Seto finally looked down at his brother, who glared up at him through watery, betrayed eyes.

"You're lying!" Mokuba wailed.

"What?! No I'm not!"

But Mokuba's sobs only grew louder. "Yes-huh! You're hurt really bad!"

Seto was telling the truth, and he didn't know what to do. Mokuba's tears were unnerving—they wrenched Seto's heart. He reached out a hand, but it was still splattered with drying blood, and Mokuba flinched away.

"Mokuba!" Seto entreated, and felt tears sting his own eyes. "Come on! I would never lie to you!"

Mokuba only cried and cried. Seto stood, jamming the wad of paper against his head, baffled and helpless.

Roland presently returned with the first aid kit and fixed up Seto's forehead with little trouble. The cut wasn't deep enough to warrant any stitches. Roland then tried to address Mokuba's inconsolable state, but Mokuba would have none of it. He followed them all back to the limo but refused to hold anyone's hand. He sat as far as he could away from Seto in the backseat. Only when they arrived at Roland's mother's house, and sat down around the pleasantly decorated dining room table for roast, did Mokuba finally relax enough to interact.

Joey had never found them. And Seto wanted to feel relieved. But the incident with Mokuba left him too shaken.

And awful thoughts began to swirl and take shape in his head. Not only did Mokuba not need Seto, but he didn't even _trust_ him. Mokuba trusted some charming and friendly kid that he'd only met two days ago, more than he trusted him.

* * *

That evening, Mokuba seemed very much back to normal, though his gaze often wandered up to the bandage on Seto's forehead and lingered for a while.

It was time again for _Aladdin_. Seto paid only half-attention to the movie, up until the scene when the eponymous hero reached out a hand and asked the girl he loved, "Do you trust me?"

Seto looked down at Mokuba. Mokuba remained enraptured—oblivious, of course, to the question's pertinence. He was _five_. The movie was all magic and colors and songs to him, and that's all it ought to've been.

Seto watched Aladdin lie through his teeth to Jasmine, and watched Jasmine _want_ to believe him. But it was easy to see she didn't.

It was almost the end of their third day of freedom. Tomorrow was their last day together. Mokuba had begged to return to the pool all afternoon, so they'd be going there tomorrow without question, rain or shine. Joey would more than likely be there, loitering about the poolside. Looking forward to hanging out with Mokuba. Not knowing it would be the last time.

Seto wondered if he himself was as transparent to Mokuba as Aladdin was to Jasmine. Could someone so small see through him so easily? Was there _anything_ Seto could do to protect his brother, to keep those retching sobs of worry out of Mokuba's tiny heart? He'd thought he'd done a good job so far—or at least a decent one—until today.

After _Aladdin_ , Mokuba wanted to pray before bed, and Seto indulged him. As Mokuba sweetly repeated the things he'd learned in Bible class that morning, Seto bowed his aching head and silently asked for courage.

Tomorrow he would need all the courage he could get.


	4. Day Four

Disclaimer: Disney owns _Aladdin_.

Warnings: Some uses of "God;" one use of 'd-t.'

* * *

At first, Monday morning was lovely—absolutely lovely. Seto slept late again; a joyful Mokuba scampered in and jumped on the bed to wake him up; Roland made them custom crêpes for breakfast. They all sat in the sunny breakfast room, chatting and laughing over their meal, and looking to anyone on the outside like a family.

But halfway through his second crêpe, the reality Seto had been running from caught up with him hard and fast. His bite of food turned stale in his mouth, and his stomach contorted into a heavy knot. Mokuba gabbed on about his plans for the pool, but Roland noticed Seto set his fork down and gaze wanly into his lap.

"Are you full, Young Master Kaiba?" Roland asked. Seto didn't look up.

"...yeah," he said. He felt nauseous. "I, um...I'll be right back."

Roland frowned in concern. "Of course, sir," he said.

"Seto!" Mokuba called out as Seto pushed in his chair and turned to leave. "We're going to the pool, right?"

"Mm," Seto mumbled, already on his way out the door.

"What did he say?" Mokuba turned to Roland. "We're going, right?"

"I wouldn't worry," Seto heard Roland reassure his brother. "Young Master Kaiba knows how much you love the pool."

Seto staggered down the hall. He really _was_ nauseous—he ran the rest of the way to his room and made it to the bathroom just in time to vomit his breakfast into the toilet. He regretted the waste, for Roland had been so careful to make the crêpes just right.

Seto groaned and wiped his mouth on a towel. What was wrong with him? For once, everything was going right. Could he not simply enjoy this day?

The boy steeled himself. He stood up and took several strides, as boldly as he could manage, out of his room and back down the hall. He would try to make the most of today. There were just so many things wrong with tomorrow.

* * *

When Seto and Mokuba arrived at Fifth Street Pool that afternoon, the first thing Seto noticed were the rows and rows of kids filling the bleachers and the lounge chairs. They squirmed and shoved at each other, their wet trunks and suits squelching against the metal and plastic. All of them seemed impatient—waiting for something.

Seto cast his eyes over to the pool itself and understood right away. "Ah," he said.

It was Monday, and at Fifth Street Pool that meant it was a "Wave Day." Mondays and Wednesdays were set aside for special, intermittent activation of the pool's wave simulator. The waves were great fun, but also quite strong—and remained reserved for pool-goers aged twelve and up.

"C'mon," said Mokuba, tugging at Seto's shirttail. "Let's go change and find Joey!"

As they shed their outer garments in the damp bathroom stall, Seto touched his healing forehead self-consciously. If Joey was here, he might see the bandage, remember the gossip from yesterday's church services, and put two and two together. Then again, Joey didn't seem all that _smart_...Seto was probably safe. Besides, this was the last time he'd have to worry about it. No _way_ would Gozaburo let the boys waste their time at church anymore.

"Seto, will you tie these?"

"Sure." Seto knelt, grateful for the distraction.

By the time they suited up, the wave machine was off, and the kids were back in the fray. It would be harder to find Joey now that everyone wasn't sorted so neatly. But Mokuba was on the case—indigo eyes narrowed into a fervent squint, he doggedly combed the crowd.

"I don't see Joey anywhere," he said, anxious.

"It's a big place," said Seto. "I'm sure he's here somewhere."

Mokuba looked up at Seto. The gears in his head were turning. "Can you give me a piggy-back?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh—um, yeah." Seto knelt again and let his little brother climb onto his back. He hooked his arms under Mokuba's knees and heaved himself back up to his full height. When he did, he gasped at the effort—either Mokuba was heavier, or he was weaker, or both.

Mokuba gripped Seto's shoulder and stretched up as far as he could. With one hand shielding his eyes in a searching gesture, he peered all around the pool.

"I still don't see him!" he exclaimed. "Can you walk around?"

Seto strained under the ton of bricks that was latched onto him. "I—don't think I can—hold you for—much—"

"I got 'im."

All at once the weight on Seto's back vanished, and for a split second panic welled up inside him. Had someone just taken Mokuba right off his back—?! But he heard Mokuba laugh, and Seto bristled with a darker emotion when he turned around to confirm his suspicion.

"Miss me, kid?" asked Joey. He hoisted Mokuba onto his own shoulders nearly effortlessly. Grinning, he reached up to squeeze Mokuba's sides, and Mokuba erupted into a happy fit of giggles.

"Hee hee hee—yeah!" Mokuba flung his arms around Joey's neck in a hug even as he doubled over with laughter.

"Let's go 'n' swim before the wave machine turns back on," Joey said, finally letting up on the tickles.

A breathless Mokuba gulped in air around his words. "What's the—wave—machine?"

"It turns on cool waves in the pool, but we ain't allowed to swim in 'em," said Joey. "Let's go quick! They'll prob'ly be on again soon."

"Okay!" The pair strolled off toward the shallow end. Joey seemed not one bit encumbered by the weight.

He had braced himself for another confrontation, had expected another stand-off, but there had been nothing; and now Seto stood by the restrooms with the beach bag slung over one shoulder, tense and ridiculous and alone.

This was what he had been afraid of—what he had always been afraid of. With mechanical movements, he wandered back to his usual spot on the bleachers and sat down.

Seto sat hunched over his drawn-up knees and stared out at nothing. The bleakness of his failure settled over him like a shroud. Bizarrely, all he could think of was the Genie from _Aladdin_ —how the character postured before the camera, plunged into the depths to rescue his master, submitted himself to Jafar's terrible regime. Those giant blue hands, bound in shackles.

 _God_ , why the heck was he _crying_ over a _stupid movie?_

Seto swiped an angry fist across his stinging eyes, but his knuckle caught his bandage and ripped it half off his head.

"Dammit!" he cried at the pain, and he buried his face in his hands.

 _Might as well cry_ now _, before Hobson gets back, before_ Gozaburo _gets back. Might as well cry now so none of them see how_ pathetic _and_ weak _you are—_

BWEEEEEE

A whining siren broke out over the pool and resounded off the tile. Seto looked up. The shallow end of the pool was clearing out, and a mass of soggy children was gathering on the bleachers below him. It was time for the waves.

Seto wiped his eyes thoroughly, careful not to scrape his wound again, and glared balefully down at his peers. He hoped he was high enough that the horde wouldn't reach him; once most of the kids had settled, Seto seemed to be in the clear.

Still the siren blared. Seto cringed and rubbed his temples, fighting off a headache. He was looking away when the beachers vibrated beneath him, and he sensed the immediate presence of someone at his side.

Seto whirled to spit fire at the unwanted guest—but it was Mokuba. Mokuba, with Joey behind him.

"Hi, Seto," Mokuba mouthed, and right then the siren shut off. "Seto, can I have my towel? I'm dripping all over the place."

Seto snapped into parenting mode, if for no other reason than to forget about his own state. He fished Mokuba's towel out of the beach bag and passed it to him. Mokuba threw it over his head and ruffled it with vigor. Then he left the towel draped on his head and snuggled into it, content.

"Can I have my snack, Seto?" Mokuba asked next, the words muffled under the towel.

"Are you sure you want it now?" Seto cleared his throat to soften his hoarse voice. "We just got here."

"Yeah, I want it now."

"Alright." Seto dug into the beach bag again. Just as he wrapped his fingers around the cereal-filled Ziploc bag, he felt a hand close over his shoulder—he jumped so violently that Mokuba's snack flew from his grasp and tumbled between the bleachers, all the way down to the floor below.

" _Don't touch me!_ " Seto shouted, wrenching Joey's hand off him. "What's your _problem_ , loser?!"

Joey, incensed, drew his hand back and into a fist. "I was gonna ask to borrow a towel, you jerk!" he spat. "Ain't you gonna ask Mokuba if he's havin' fun so far?"

"Don't you tell me how to treat my brother!" But Seto cast a furtive look over at Mokuba all the same.

Mokuba, still under the towel, lay flat on his side and dangled one arm between the bleachers, all in vain. His cinnamon squares had landed in the shadowy heart of the bleachers; they were lost forever. "Seto, can you reach it?"

"Stop it!" Seto lunged at Mokuba and forced him out of the gap. "You're gonna hurt yourself!" He held Mokuba by the wrist and yanked the towel off his head, revealing the bubbling face of an erupting volcano.

"I want my towel back!" Mokuba wailed. "I want my snack!"

Seto gritted his teeth. "We'll get a new snack from the vending machine, okay?"

" _No!_ " Mokuba jerked his wrist, but Seto maintained a vice grip.

"We can't reach your other snack. That's all we can do!"

" _NO!_ "

Some of the kids down below were twisting and craning their necks to watch the quarrel—not that fussy children were uncommon at Fifth Street Pool, but neither were curious children. Seto spotted them in his peripheral vision. He flushed. Blood throbbed behind the cut on his head. Mokuba wriggled and contorted and sobbed in his grasp.

There was only one answer to this problem: he wanted to die. He wanted to die right now. And Joey could take Mokuba home. Mokuba writhed and bawled.

Joey looked on, like the other kids. This was virtually a replay of the scene in the bathroom last Friday. And all at once, a vivid picture of his _own_ little sibling leaping into his mind, Joey knew what was wrong.

"Oi!" he barked, and both brothers spun around. "I'll get the snack."

Seto and Mokuba could only stare as Joey began his climb down through the innards of the bleachers.

Joey moved carefully—on the lookout for an unstable foothold or a sharp corner—but his progress was steady. Before long he monkeyed the Ziploc with his toes and transferred it up to hold between his teeth as he ascended.

A little winded but otherwise unfazed, Joey released the bag of cereal and offered it to Mokuba.

"Here, kid," he said.

Mokuba's eyes shone with both tears and admiration. He took the bag and only glanced back at Seto before he cracked it open.

Seto didn't have time to react, because Joey had tromped right up and around Mokuba and was perched on the bleacher directly behind him, glowering into Seto's face.

"You," Joey said with a snarl of conviction. He jabbed a finger at Seto. "Soon's the waves stop. Yer swimmin' with us."

Seto held Joey's fiery gaze. He told himself that he was only agreeing because of Mokuba's earlier insistence when he spat, " _Fine._ "

No gratitude at all, not even a hint, for retrieving the snack. But Joey hadn't expected any. He gave a curt nod and kicked back against the bleachers to wait out the waves.

When at last the waves shut off, Joey and Mokuba crammed their towels back into the beach bag and headed for the water. Seto's fury hadn't subsided, but he decided to harness it to his advantage. It gave him a reckless sort of courage.

Mokuba looked startled when Seto lurched to his feet and started after them.

"Are you gonna swim with us?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah," said Seto, rolling his eyes with a non-committal shrug. "What's the big deal?"

Seto acted nonchalant, but Mokuba's face blossomed into the widest grin Joey had ever seen.

"Cool!" the little one exclaimed. "It's so fun! _C'mon, c'mon!_ " All past offenses forgotten, Mokuba took Seto by the hand and practically dragged him down the rest of the bleachers.

"Hey, slow down!" cried a bewildered Seto, stumbling along behind his brother.

Joey brought up the rear, quite left behind. From this far back Joey could just make out the astonished smile on Seto's face as Seto realized the same thing.

 _That was easy_ , he thought. Mission accomplished.

* * *

The three of them sat on the bleachers, waiting out another round of simulated waves. Mokuba munched on the rest of his cereal beneath the shelter of his towel. Joey sprawled himself out across several rows to stretch his back. He peered around Mokuba at Seto, who was pressing the heel of his palm against the bandage on his forehead, trying to keep the water-logged thing from sliding off.

"How'd you get that cut?" Joey said. Seto didn't make eye contact.

"...I fell," he said, and left it at that. Joey mused.

"That ain't a very cool story," he said. "You gotta make up somethin' cool."

Seto still didn't turn his head, but his brow furrowed a little.

"...like what?" he eventually asked.

"Like..." Joey tilted his head way back, ruminating. "Like you, uh, was jumpin' across a roof. Doin' a stunt. Like for a movie. But you fell."

"Like Aladdin," chirped Mokuba from under the towel. Seto and Joey both looked down at his lumpy outline.

"Yeah," said Joey, nodding. "Like Aladdin." He looked at Seto, who was finally looking back at him. "You like Aladdin?"

Seto indicated the lump. "This one _adores_ him," he said.

"I love Aladdin!" declared Mokuba.

Joey laughed. "Then there you go," he said, brushing his hands together. "There's your cool story. You're Aladdin."

Mokuba giggled. "Seto's not Aladdin," he said.

"Just for today, he is," said Joey. He risked a grin at Seto, and winked.

Seto only stared for a moment. Then half of his mouth turned up in a lopsided, melancholy smile.

"Just for today," he agreed.

* * *

 _ **Five Years Later**_

Seto Kaiba took a swig of his coffee and rolled his eyes. "You don't honestly think that _mutt_ stands half a chance in this tournament, do you?"

Mokuba, who was polishing off his fifth waffle of the morning, shrugged. "I dunno," he said between bites. "He got pretty far at Duelist Kingdom. And he has pretty good cards."

Seto scoffed. "'Pretty good?' Try _worthless_."

Mokuba smiled, immune to the bitterness. "You just like insulting people when you're nervous," he said knowingly. He spotted Seto's half-finished waffle. "Hey, you gonna finish that?"

"Go crazy, kid."

"Thanks." Mokuba happily slid his brother's plate over toward himself and dug in.

The Kaiba Corp. blimp trekked across the sky, slow and steady, and the eastern sun flooded the kitchen with light and warmth. Seto finished his coffee and produced his Duel Monsters deck from his pocket. One by one he laid out his cards on the tablecloth, running through his dueling strategy over and over again in his head. _Two traps here in case he's got something up his sleeve...an extra tribute monster to throw her off guard..._

He lingered on his Blue Eyes White Dragons, still favoring them over Obelisk if he was honest. Just beautiful and perfect cards. Nothing'd ever beat them.

Mokuba watched Seto as he lined up his cards. Seto did this all the time, but it was still fun to observe. Mokuba liked to admire the artwork, anyway.

Halfway through Seto's third neat row, Mokuba jabbed a finger at the monster card Seto had just set down.

He said, "La Jinn the Genie? Like the Genie from _Aladdin?_ "

Seto frowned, perturbed by the interruption. "Yeah, I guess," he said.

Mokuba seemed excited. "Do you remember that time we went swimming and played Aladdin in the pool?" he asked. "It was a really long time ago...I don't even know when."

"No."

"But I remember I had to save you—'cause you were Aladdin, and I was the Genie. Remember?"

"No, I don't, Mokuba."

"And somebody was the monkey...Abu...but who the heck would _that_ have been?" Mokuba wore his own frown. "We didn't have any friends..."

"We still don't have any friends," Seto said curtly, itching to get back to his strategy. "Can I finish?"

"We _do so_ have friends now," Mokuba retorted.

"No, we don't."

"Yes-huh!"

"I'm done talking about it." Seto's patience had gone.

"We have friends! Yugi, and Téa, and Joey...and—" Mokuba stopped short.

"...Joey," he repeated.

Seto blinked.

Mokuba stared.

A knock.

"Master Kaiba?" Roland poked his head around the door. "Some of the passengers have gotten into an—er—altercation downstairs," he said. He tugged at his collar. "Your presence is requested—if you wouldn't mind, sir."

"Which passengers?" Seto asked, still staring at his brother.

"Erm...Tristan Taylor and Joey Wheeler, sir."

Seto's expression was indefinable. But when Mokuba sprung up and opened his mouth to speak, Seto shook his head ever so slightly.

"I can go down—"

"—I'll take care of it." Seto whisked his cards off the table, snapped into his trench coat, and stalked past Roland out the door.

"...like running a daycare..." They heard him mutter to himself down the hall.

Mokuba's eyes lingered on the door for a few seconds. "Huh," he said, shaking his head. "Huh."

"What is it, sir?" ventured Roland from the corner.

Mokuba looked around at Roland like he'd just remembered he was there. "Oh! It's nothing," he said, smiling. He remembered something else. "And thanks for the waffles!"

Roland returned his smile, a little surprised. "You're welcome!"

"I ate like a ton of 'em," said Mokuba, rubbing his stomach. "They were awesome. Can you make crêpes, too?"

Roland's smile gained a measure of warmth. "I most certainly can, sir," he said.

"Cool!" said Mokuba. "Seto loves crêpes." He gave the kitchen a brief survey, and then stood up, taking he and his brother's dishes to the sink with him. "I'd better go make sure my brother doesn't kill anybody," he said. "But I'll see you later, Roland."

Roland inclined his head at his passing superior. "See you later, Master Mokuba."

Roland watched him go—heard him whistle a familiar tune as he bounded away. Always so joyful, in such stark contrast with Master Kaiba.

As Roland set about to cleaning the dishes, he found himself humming that same tune. He wondered if they had the proper ingredients aboard for raspberry-coconut crêpes.

"Next thing you know," he mused aloud with another smile, "they'll be asking for a ride to the pool."

THE END

* * *

 **Doctor's Note:** Thank you all for your reviews, follows, favorites, and support! This story was great fun, as well as a learning experience. I support a fully platonic relationship between Seto and Joey; at the same time, I believe their relationship had the potential in the series to blossom into a deep and complex friendship—an opportunity, in my opinion, that was missed. Please let me know what you think, and thank you again! - Dr. Mini Pie


End file.
